


Waiting On You

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, not really just that shit episode where everything was ruined, post the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:44:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Remember Barba's death threat? Guess what!





	1. Seasons Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valancysnaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancysnaith/gifts).



> I swear if this sounds anything like valancysnaith's amazing fic, it's only because we talked about this so intensely that I think our general takes on this prompt just bled into one another.

She likes to tell herself she’s busy. 

 

Busier than usual, busier than she’s ever been, and this is why her schedule just happens to be filled to the last possible minute; she’s never been so grateful for her son. 

 

Whenever she’s not working, she makes sure to occupy her every free second with activities; playdates, movie nights, museums, weekend excursions to the country. The kid has never been more active. Except, he’s five and is beat and dead asleep after bath time, sometimes even before then, and that’s when Liv is left alone with her thoughts.

 

Her thoughts, which are not always very submissive under the weight of a nightcap, are heavy, demanding, and loud. They’ve begun to join forces with her occasional bouts of insomnia, the two intrusions bleeding into one big problem that leaves her pacing up and down her apartment through the night; her home has never been cleaner. 

 

She knows she should be socializing. With adults, that is. She needs to stop turning down Amanda’s offer of girls’ nights, and soon enough on their recurring get togethers with the kids she’ll run out of ways to dodge the subject of  _ him _ with their children as pretext. Fin hasn’t stopped asking her to meet him for drinks after work, or barbecues on the weekend. She made it to his grandson’s christening, but strictly adult events where she can smell an oncoming set-up or blatant attempt to make her feel better--well, she’d rather die than sit through the looks and the tones. 

 

She’s a cop, and she’s a mom, and she’s an avid Yogi and kickboxing expert now. And that seems to work well enough. 

 

She can avoid little reminders of him, she can even avoid looking through his old text messages, though she’s been tempted, but the bitterness of the avoided calls, the unanswered messages, it fills her to the rim with anger, and on those nights? On those nights she’ll anger herself to exhaustion. 

 

It doesn’t help that every inch of the precinct reminds her of him; she sometimes thinks she hears the cadence of his steps; she hates that she’d recognize him in a crowded room by just the sound of his steps, and she remembers that confident saunter of his; the way he used to fill her door frame, making an entrance with some snarky remark that made her smile. But it was her precinct, damn it, and she didn’t need that. So she made it a point to mentally cleanse every visual of the ghost of him.

 

She’d made it all the way to her office one day, without so much as a thought, until the guest waiting for her at her desk took all her hard word and undid it, like pulling the end of a shoelace.

 

“Carmen?” She asks, careful not to startle the young woman. 

 

Carmen turns in her chair and smiles politely, though Liv notices the worry in her eyes. “Lieutenant, benson, hello.” 

 

As Liv arounds her desk, she notes the pile of mail on Carmen’s lap. “Hi. Is something wrong? Are you okay?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Carmen says quickly, her tone indicating she is not there for what people are usually there for.. “I uh--I have Mr. Barba’s mail--”

 

“I don’t know--I haven’t talked to him, Carmen.”

 

“No, I know. No one has,” she averts her eyes for a second and Olivia feels angry on the girl’s behalf.

 

“I have been sorting through his mail the last few weeks, filing what’s ours, forwarding what’s his, so on and so forth.”

 

Liv nods, finally settling into her seat to give her her undivided attention. 

 

“You remember the uh, the death threat against Mr. Barba--”

 

“Right. We looked into it, kept an eye out, it turned out to be nothing.”

 

“Well, not exactly.”

 

Liv leans in, because she doesn’t think she caught that correctly. Surely Rafael wasn’t keeping potentially life threatening details to himself’ surely he wasn’t that stupid. “Explain.”

 

“Mr. Barba had been receiving, well, notes, I guess, warning him to watch his back and so on.”

 

“ _ Notes _ \--I never knew of any notes.”

 

Carmen looks guiltily at Liv. “He didn’t want to worry you,” she explains, “He didn’t think they were a big deal.”

 

“Rafael,” Liv sighs, closes her eyes and shakes her head, cursing the stubborn man.

 

“They stopped coming for a while, but this morning--I’ve been busy with ADA Stone, bringing him to speed with pending cases, etcetera--”

 

Liv’s jaw clenches at the mention of Rafa’s replacement, her hand twitches on instinct; she’s not in a place where she can hear the man’s name and not feel apt to win a bar fight, but she remains attentive as Carmen continues, disguising her immediate irritation with a deep inhale.

 

“--so his mail had accumulated, and when I was sorting through it this morning I found something a bit...disconcerting. I thought you should take a look.” Carmen pulls a large white envelope from underneath the stack on her lap and stops short of handing it over, frowning with sudden uncertainty at Olivia. “Will you let me know he’s okay?”

 

Olivia smiles sadly at her, cursing Rafael for the upteenth time today for dropping off the face of the earth without so much as a goodbye. “Of course.”

 

“They’re pictures,” she explains as Olivia takes the envelope. “I think they were sent right before he left. There’s nothing else postmarked later than that date, but, I just thought, better safe than sorry.” 

 

“Right,” Liv nods, reaching into the envelope and pulling out a handful of medium sized prints; Rafael on a run, earbuds in and oblivious, Rafael outside the courthouse getting coffee, outside his apartment building. She swallows the lump in her throat; momentarily forgetting the other person in the room for the sake of getting lost in the images. In the last picture she’s standing with him outside the precinct; they’re laughing about something and she wishes she could remember what it was they were talking about. Suddenly the throwaway moments are important and she scans her memory for fractions of it, anything that would give her a clue, but there’s nothing of that particular moment.

 

“There’s a note.”

 

Liv blinks at the sound of Carmen’s voice and hopes she wasn’t staring for long. She pulls the note from the bottom of the stack; a folded white paper, typed in it; don’t get comfortable, amiguito.

 

Her mouth goes dry then; now her mind is on full detective mode, going through any and all suspects they looked into before they decided there were no imminent threats. Of course that would not have happened had he told her he was getting these. She looks up at Carmen and smiles tightly at her; “You did the right thing bringing me these, Carmen, thank you. Do you need--do you want someone to escort you back?” 

 

“No, no. I’m fine,” she answers and gets up to leave; Liv is already gripping her keys. “I hope it’s nothing.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

Carmen stops at the door, opens her mouth to say something, except her phone dings. After checking it, she offers a look that tells Liv it’s Stone and says, “I have to go. Thanks again.”

 

“Thank  _ you _ . I’ll keep you updated.” 

 

Carmen leaves and Liv drops the envelope on her desk; she picks up her phone and then drops that too, staring at the screen, drumming her fingers on the top of her desk whilst pretending to ignore the way her heart begins to race at the thought of hearing his voice again and inevitably seeing him up close. She picks up her phone again, unlocks the screen and swiftly finds his name, but she finds she can’t do it. She’s angry with him; for leaving, for saying all those things, for disappearing, for hiding the stupid notes from her. If he hadn’t she wouldn’t be here, she wouldn’t be pep-talking herself into doing her job, just because it’s him. 

 

With a burst of adrenaline, she jumps to her feet and decides ripping off the band-aid is not an overrated term.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

He’s never been one for therapy; not for himself anyway. But he can’t deny it’s been helping. 

Therapy and a brisk walk home after have been doing wonders; for most things anyway. That baby’s face will always be there when he closes his eyes, no matter how many times he tells himself he did the right thing. It’s not blood in his hands, not necessarily, except that it is.

 

Running helps best. He runs later in the morning now; it’s amazing how radically crowds change at different times of the day. His new running partners are stay-at home parents pushing their expensive strollers made especially for running, dog walkers, and millennial vloggers--most of which are walkers, not runners. It’s part of his routine now; Get up, run, sit in the park, get coffee, walk home. He needs a routine in order not to think. About Olivia. 

 

At first, it made sense to stay away from her. In terms of who he’d become because of her, he knows that’s an integral part of him now, it’s not up for debate, but everything else...everything else is questionable. He isn’t sure who he is anymore and he isn’t comfortable with uncertainty; that’s not a great excuse but that’s exactly why it torments him. It doesn’t help that his mother’s parting words after every phone call are “Why don’t you call that Olivia of yours?” 

 

There was a time when thinking of Olivia as his wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. He always thought they’d have more time. He was naive. 

 

It’s the should haves that kill him. 

 

There were many times he should have said something, should have asked her out on a date, should have let his hand linger on her arm long enough to send a message, should have kissed her during one of many late nights alone in his office, or her office, should have said he loved her and should have said they’d find the time even if they didn’t work together. 

 

He tells himself he’ll call her, today he will call her, but night arrives and he decides it’s too late. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he  _ will _ call her and he will keep it simple; he will ask if she wants to meet for coffee, or maybe he will bring her coffee--maybe she’ll tell him to fuck off and slam the door in his face. He wouldn’t blame her. 

 

He’s having his daily caffeinated inner argument with himself post run when he sees her; she’s leaning back against her car. He stops for a moment, just to watch her, just to have this moment before she spots him and it’s time for her to hate him. He can’t help it, the sight of her makes him feel better and he feels guilty about it because he doesn’t deserve it. Her. 

 

He resumes walking, bracing himself for the unavoidable. 

 

She turns to him and he isn’t surprised when she doesn’t smile. Instead, her jaw sets and he knows that behind the dark glasses, her eyes are hard. 

 

God, he’s missed her. 

 

“Hey,” is all he can think to say. It’s boring and blasse, and he owes her a hell of a lot more than that, but he’s distracted by the shock of seeing her. 

 

She moves fast, and for a second, he’s sure she’s going to hit him, but instead she shoves an envelope into his chest and and through gritted teeth asks him, “What the hell were you thinking keeping this to yourself?” 

 

One look at the address label and he knows exactly what it is. “Liv, it’s nothing. ADAs get threats, it’s part of the job, if I felt there was something to it, I would have told you.”

 

“It’s not up to you to make that decision,” she snaps and then turns her body away from him. “Fin is looking into it now, and while he does, I’m your detail. I don’t want to hear a single word about it, got it?” 

 

“Liv, that’s not nece--”

 

“No a  _ word _ , Rafa!” 

 

He watches her shift her weight from one hip to the other before she brushes her hair back and continues to look everywhere but at him. He can see her struggling to keep her composure and when he looks closer, he can see she’s shaking--all that anger, which he’s seen directed at others, is now his doing. She’s the most beautiful force of nature and he’s so happy to see her that he knows he’ll take just about anything she wants to dish out.

 

As if she hears his thoughts, she turns to him and angrily snaps, “You are so selfish, do you know that? I never thought of you as selfish, but--You didn’t say goodbye to  _ Carmen _ ?”

 

“I sent her flowers and tickets to the Opera,” he offers lamely.

 

“She came into my office, scared, worried about you, how could you do that?”

 

“I wrote her a very nice card.”

 

“And then you disappear, and we’re all supposed to just accept that? And you--you don’t tell me about the notes, what if something happened to you? What am I supposed to do then? You’re so selfish!” 

 

She’s close enough that he can smell her shampoo. 

 

“Do you hate me?”

 

She laughs, bitterly, “You think I’m here because I hate you? Come on, Rafael.” She turns away from him again, begins to pace around in an unmarked circle. 

 

“It’s really great to see you, Liv.” 

 

“Don’t.”

 

“It is. You look great.” 

 

She turns to him now, and he doesn’t have to see her eyes to know they’re rimmed with unshed tears the way her voice shakes when she replies, “ _ Please _ don’t say that.”

 

He is an asshole. He is a complete asshole and he can’t believe he’s done this to her. He wants to reach out and take her hand, hold her, he’s itching to touch her, but any move feels far too intimate for the sidewalk.

 

“Can we talk upstairs? Please?”

 

He waits for her to nod before leading the way. She breezes past him as he holds the door open for her and then walks ahead of him through the lobby. She doesn’t remove her sunglasses in the elevator, which is crowded. Their arms brush and she flinches away from him.

 

He hates it.

 

He doesn’t blame her.

 

Upon exiting the lift, she walks a good two steps ahead of him; her familiarity with his home fills him with hope, perhaps foolishly, but  it does, so he follows and when they get to his door and he unlocks it, he lets her walk in first. 

 

Her back is to him as she removes her glasses and takes in the room. He drops his keys on the the table nearby, sets his coffee cup down next, and waits. 

 

Her hair is a little bit shorter; it has a freshly trimmed look to it and she’s wearing a black pea coat with buttons on the sleeves and leather patches on the elbows. He recalls complimenting her on that coat once. 

 

“Have you received any notes or letters at your home address?” 

 

“No.”

 

“Notice any strangers following you?”

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“Great.”

 

Silence stretches out between them. She distances herself from him, moving closer to the window, looking out at the morning sky. He would beg if he thought it would make a difference right now; he would get down on his knees and ask for her forgiveness, but it doesn’t feel right. This is one of those times when ‘sorry’ just isn’t going to cut it. 

 

He freezes when she suddenly speaks, and her voice sounds so small, strained. “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

He wants to know the right thing to say to her, he wants to be able to say he’s sorry and make it all better, but he can’t. So he crosses the room and she turns in time for him to catch her around the waist. He doesn’t hesitate, because he did that before and he hasn’t stopped regretting it. So he kisses her, tasting the salt of her tears and caffeinated sweetness of her tongue when she opens her mouth and falls right into the same desperate, clinging state he’s in the moment he touches her.

 

She moans against his mouth, her arms circle his neck and she arches into him as his hands begin to work her coat open before pulling her shirt out of her pants while he’s walking her towards the nearest wall. When they reach it, they stop; lips grazing and panting, and pressed so close together that Rafael can’t believe he’s not dreaming this. 

 

Their eyes meet as she tentatively touches his cheek and whispers, “You didn’t have to disappear.” 

 

“I’m here now,” he says, feels a smile spread across his face; that hasn’t happened in a while. But it doesn’t encourage one from Olivia. She frowns, her hand falls from his face to his chest, and much to his dismay, she pushes him away, gently at first, then deliberately until there’s enough room for her to step around him. 

 

“That’s not good enough,” she tells him.

 

“Liv.”

 

“You know what, Rafa?” She turns back around, eyes back to anger, with an extra coat of hurt. “I’m tired of people telling me they care about me while they’re on their way out the door. I told myself after Elliot I was done with chasing people who keep running.” 

 

“I’m not. I’m not running from you, I’m not Elliot.”

 

She snorts and this flicks a switch within him. He never met the guy but he knows enough to recognize being compared to him is not a compliment. She’s already halfway out the door and he knows it’s a mistake before he even says it but it’s too late to stop it and it’s already tumbling out of his mouth along with hearty serving of jealousy he isn’t proud of, “What does he even have to do with us? Are the rumors true? What happened between you two?

 

She smirks coldly at him. “Same thing that went on between you and me. Nothing.”

 

“Not nothing. You know it was not nothing with us. It’s not nothing now.” 

 

“Why? Because you love me?”

 

“Yes!” He exclaims, like it should be obvious, because it should be. It’s quiet after. It’s scary quiet but it feels good to say it, thought under the circumstances he’s afraid it doesn’t carry the same amount of weight, or the right kind of weight.

 

Olivia shakes her head. “And you still left. Tell me something, Rafa. If I hadn’t shown up at your apartment today, would I have heard from you again?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“When?”

 

He breathes slowly, knowing fully well he isn’t going to lie to her. “I don’t know.”

 

“Right,” She says with a nod, pulling the door all the way open. “Well. I uh, just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead, so--now I have. I’m going go to sit in my car. Wait for Fin to to check in. I’ll come up and check on you in a few hours.” 

 

“Olivia.”

 

She points at the door and before walking out, tells him, “Lock your door. Keep your phone on.” 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

She barely makes it into the elevator in one piece before she crumbles as the doors close in front of her. She allows herself a few floors of tears before forcing herself out of it. She takes a few deep breaths, wipes the tears from her face and looks up at the ceiling for composure, whispering to herself, “Come on, get it together.” 

 

She nearly walks into  a man on her way out of the elevator and she mutters an apology as she hurries outside, anxious for some fresh air. She gets a couple of minutes of it until her phone rings in her pocket and she answers it after reading the caller ID. 

 

“Yeah, Fin. Yes. I just left him, he’s fine. What?” 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

She’s been gone 2 minutes before there’s a knock on his door and his stomach begins to knott in anticipation. He starts to think of what to say as he makes his way to answer it. He’ll apologize until she believes him, he’ll beg, he’ll grovel. 

 

He pulls the door open, ready to convince her to give them a chance, except a sharp, blunt force stops him; straight into his eye socket. He fights it, blinks once, twice, but it’s dark and all he sees is a shadow. He’s falling, his head feels heavy, and then it’s not just dark but black and he’s out, her name on his lips as he passes out. 


	2. love me in whatever way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv rescues Rafa, his eye is okay. ATTHS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to a lot of James Blake writing this, guys. Happy Valentine's Day, pervs.

She doesn’t wait for backup like Fin tells her she should. She bolts back into the building and into the elevator, where she proceeds to repeatedly assault the button to the designated floor while cursing its inanimate existence to hell until she’s where she needs to be, and even then the doors don’t open quickly enough for her liking, so she squeezes through and draws her gun immediately upon seeing Rafael’s door is open in the distance. 

 

She slows down, gripping her weapon firmly as she carefully advances, cautious not to let her adrenaline betray her as she gets closer and her ears pick up the distinct muffled sound of distress. There are harsh whispers, a muffled strike, and a painful groan that make her muscles twitch to run. Her fingers adjust on her gun, gripping it tighter as she reaches the door and takes one peak inside--it’s no longer than a second, just enough to suss out the situation.

 

Rafael is in the fetal position on the floor, squirming as another blow lands from the assailant;  a man Olivia doesn’t recognize, and who fortunately does not see her come in. Rafael’s eyes dart up at her for just an instant before he curls into himself and Olivia moves quickly. 

 

“NYPD!” She shouts, but it’s really just so she can say she did it; she doesn’t wait for the man to acknowledge her; she hits him in the base of the neck with the back of her gun before kneeing him in the stomach--partly to incapacitate him, but mostly because it makes her feel better. 

 

“Rafa?” She calls to him as she’s securing the cuffs over the man’s wrists, not bothering with being gentle and getting a mouthful in return. “ _ Shut up _ . Rafa, talk to me, you okay?”

 

Rafael coughs and wheezes, but he’s moving, so Liv sighs with relief before pulling out her radio to call for an ambulance as she gives the guy’s wrist a twist for good measure. She gives the operator Rafael’s address along with her badge number as she’s both dragging the guy to sit against the wall and keeping close watch on Rafael, who is still catching his breath and attempting to sit up. 

 

After setting the radio down, she hurries to his side just as he’s struggling to get on his feet and she urges him to sit instead, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on, sit down.” 

 

He sits as she kneels beside him and her hands are all over him, searching for any open wounds. “You’re not bleeding, are you?”

 

“No,” he manages, scooting back against a nearby bookcase.

 

She touches his chest, stomach, his neck, and when she looks up, she gasps at the gash above his brow. “Oh, my god, Rafa--” she  brushes his hair away from the cut and gently touches the tender skin around it. “Let me see,” she tilts his chin up and scans the other side of his face before checking him for a concussion. “Your right eye is bloodshot, can you see okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling when their eyes meet, “I can see okay.” 

 

“Try not to move, I don’t want to risk anything,” she tells him, sighing as she further inspects his eye while she continues to comb her fingers through his hair, her other hand resting against his chest where she can feel his heart beating. As the tail end of her adrenaline rush dissipates, she feels the overwhelming surge of fear she hadn’t stopped to feel earlier and she closes her eyes, focusing on the heat against her palm and the rise and fall of his chest, repeating over and over, “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay.” 

 

“Liv,” she hears him say after a while. She opens her eyes and finds she’s never been happier to see that lopsided grin. “I’m fine,” he assures her. 

 

“I know.”

 

“Don’t think you’re going to take all the credit for this.” 

 

“What?” 

 

He nods in the guys direction. “I took most of those blows, tired him out for you, you basically just walked in here and slapped the cuffs on him.” 

 

She sighs, shakes her head at him and replies, “I forgot you were funny.” 

 

“How’s my face? How bad is it?” 

 

“I mean,” she starts, making a show of looking him over and then shrugs, “you’re going to have one hell of a black eye tomorrow and you could run a comb through this hair, but it’s a pretty good face still.” 

 

“And I thought I was finally ready for Instagram.”

 

She laughs. She’ll find the energy to be angry with him again, but for the time being she’s just glad he’s well enough to make jokes. 

 

“When can I call my lawyer?” 

 

Liv turns toward the guy sitting at the other end of the room and glares. “Why don’t you shut the hell up before I kick your balls up to your throat?”

 

“Whoa,” she hears Rafael say. When she looks back at him, he seems thoroughly impressed. 

 

“You liked that?” 

 

“That was really good.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“Owe. Owe, owe, owe, owe--jesus, are you closing that thing or making the cut bigger?” 

 

“ _ Rafael _ .”

 

He glances over at Olivia, who’s standing near the exam room door glaring at him and mouthing, “stop it.”

 

The nurse tending to his eye doesn’t bat a lash at his complaints however. 

 

“So what’s your favorite part about your job?” He asks her, and without missing a beat, the nurse replies, “The blood. And the gore.” 

 

He chuckles, and winces because his ribs are sore. 

 

“All done,” the nurses announces. “You’ve got one tiny fracture on your rib, but that should heal on its own, we’ll give you medication for the pain. Your eye will have to be surgically removed, though. Just kidding. Your eye is fine. But it’ll be swollen tomorrow, if not tonight. Very swollen. Any questions?” 

 

“No. But thank you, Nurse Ratched.” 

 

“I don’t know who that is. Is that an old people reference?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before she opens the door and just before walking out, says, “The Doctor will be in soon. She’ll write you a prescription.” 

 

The door closes behind her and he looks up to see Olivia fighting a smile. 

 

“Was that entertaining for you?” 

 

“I’m sorry but--you’re just such a  _ baby _ !” 

 

“Olivia.”

 

“Yes, rafael.”

 

“I almost died.”

 

“You got punched in the face. I think you’ll be fine.”

 

“What about my rib? Internal bleeding and all of that.”

 

“You’re not bleeding internally.” 

 

“I’m just saying, I very well could have.”

 

Her gaze drops. Now that gloom isn’t hanging over their heads, the playful mirth of earlier is gone and she crosses her arms over her chest, blocking him out again. “The uh--the guy who attacked you was I.D.’d by the way. He had been hired by a Riker’s correctional officer with a grudge against you--the Gary Munson case.

 

Rafa nods.

 

“They had given up on scaring you months ago it seems, but this poor bastard violated probation and was desperate for a favor, so, he thought he’d take care of you for them in hopes they’d throw him a bone.”

 

“Lucky you were there, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, you were incredibly lucky. You know, for a Harvard graduate, you really are an idiot. Don’t ever keep something like that from me again, do you understand?”

 

“I won’t.” 

 

“Good.” She says as she turns towards the door, “I’ll wait outside.”

 

“Liv, wait, I know I’ve got no right to ask but please stay. Please.” She pauses but her hand doesn’t leave the door handle and he holds his breath as she mulls over his request. Finally, she shuts the door and stays. 

 

He waits for her to take the seat near him to begin his unplanned apology. “I’ve thought a lot about what I would say to you when I saw you again.”

 

Staring pointedly at some random point of interest on the floor, she asks, “And?” 

 

“And it doesn’t matter because I shouldn't have disappeared on you like I did.” He waits for any indication that this is, if not the right thing to say, than at least the closest thing to it. Just briefly, she glances at him, and he thinks perhaps she’s relaxed a bit in her seat, so he continues, “I have no excuse. Except it was easier than being around you knowing I’d obliterated the part of myself that knew what it was doing. I didn’t--I don’t know what I’m going to do next, Liv. And it feels like I’m just--hovering. I’ve got no solid ground to stand on and you deserve better than that. I just wanted to get to a place where I had a foundation again because I needed to be-- _ more _ . I wasn’t stupid enough to think you’d be waiting for me, but I hoped. The thing is, i wasn't prepared for how much I missed you and that was my fault. I’m sorry this doesn’t explain why, but it’s what I’ve got right now.” 

 

She shuts her eyes and exhales slowly through her mouth. When she finally looks up at him, her eyes are glassy. “What you said that day? No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Ever. And uh, I had gotten to a point where my love life wasn’t something I was actively pursuing. Not that I’d given up on it or anything, but I thought, well, if something happens, it happens and if it doesn’t. Well, that’s fine. And then I met you.” She smiles at him, a real Olivia smile, the contagious kind.

 

“You and I had this thing since the beginning. And I thought, oh it’s just physical, it’ll pass, no big deal. But it was--it is a big deal.”

 

“It was the suspenders, wasn’t it.”

 

She laughs at that, “A little bit, yeah.” The smile gets a little smaller, her eyes a little sadder.  “You say you feel like you’re hovering? Watching you walk away that day was like being stranded in the ocean without a life raft, in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to go after you because I wasn’t sure that’s what you wanted, and I couldn’t call after you because you didn’t look back. You never looked back. I stood there, you know, until I couldn’t see you anymore. And when you were gone, I didn’t know what to do. ‘Cause you had said all these things.” her voice begins to shake and she stops to take a steadying breath that only manages to push the tears from her eyes and she wipes them away quickly, shrugging as if apologizing for being at a loss for words.

 

He slowly climbs off the gourney he’s been sitting on, ignoring his sore abdomen. She follows suit and stands; wrapping her in his arms, he’s grateful their connection is strong enough still that he doesn’t have to ask to hold her. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Liv,” he mumbles into her hair and he hears her sniffle, so he kisses her shoulder. He moves his hands from her waist to cradle her face and he kisses her cheek, hesitating just a moment before kissing her lips, chastely at first, then more firmly. He should have known better because he hasn’t felt this grounded in a long time.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The sound of the running shower soothes her nerves a little bit. Knowing he’s well and safe where she can keep an eye on him is reassuring. Still, she can’t get the image of him writhing on the floor out of her mind. She cleans while she waits, though his apartment is already as clean as it’s going to get, therefore she moves into the kitchen. She thinks maybe she’ll make them dinner, but maybe take-out is best so she begins to thumb through the stack of menus on the counter and narrows it down to three places.

 

By then, school has ended and she checks in on Noah. Lucy’s just picked him and they’re on their way home. She says a quick hello, reminds him to do his homework and by the time that’s settled, the shower has stopped running. 

 

She paces around, fluffing his couch pillows, looking at his law books, buying herself some time, pretending she’s not dying to see him--just to confirm he’s there, breathing, heart beating. She’s not nearly as patient as she thinks she is. After only a few minutes, she walks into his bedroom. The bathroom door is ajar, steam is filtering through and there’s the distinct sound of a strained painful groan. 

 

Slowly she pushes the door all the way open; Rafael is standing in front of the mirror in navy blue sweatpants, inspecting the dark bruise below his ribcage. Surprisingly, that’s not what alarms her, but the bigger, darker bruise on his back.

 

She walks right in without asking, “God, he really did a number on you--stop touching it if it hurts,” she scolds him, brushing his hand away as she leans in to get a closer look on his back. “I think we should go back to the hospital, I don’t believe for a second all you got was a small fracture.”

 

“I’m fine. I bruise easily,” he says as she moves around to stand between him and the sink for a look at his chest.

 

She’s idly touching his skin, searching for more bruises or abrasions. It’s only when his breathing becomes more deliberate that it hits her; she’s touching Rafael Barba’s bare chest and she’s never even seen him out of a suit. She feels the heat rise up her cheeks, and she isn’t sure she can blame all of it on the steam in the bathroom. She blinks and it’s like raising a curtain. Suddenly she’s keenly aware of his skin under her fingertips, the heat of it, the tautness of it as she skims his chest, his shoulders. 

 

She swallows hard and licks her lips as she looks up to meet his eyes; one untouched, the other injured, both dark and intense.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks, her voice barely a whisper as he steps forward, effectively trapping her where she stands, and now she’s the one breathing heavily. 

 

“I’m fine,” he assures her, and then reaches up to brush her hair back so he can lean in and kiss the side of her neck. 

 

She grips the sink behind her, tilting her head to give him better access as he leaves a tentative kiss against her pulsepoint, and another just below her ear before he takes the liberty of gently tugging at her lobe with his teeth and she shivers. The sensation carries as he trails his mouth along her jawline; by the time he reaches her lips, she’s got no further objections left and she kisses him with equal fervor.

 

She can’t believe they’re finally doing this; at least she hopes they’re doing it, going through with it for once. She needs it; she needs the reassurance of his touch to know he’s okay, that he’s there with her. Still, some sliver of worry filters through the haze of it all and she remembers his injuries so she tears her mouth from his, and smiles against his lips when he manages to steal a few kisses before she succeeds in getting his attention. 

 

“Wait,” she tells him, kissing his cheek so he knows she’s not stopping it, just delaying it momentarily. “Can we get in your bed?”

 

He doesn’t answer her, but he does lead her by the hand into the bedroom, where he instantly pulls her against him and claims her mouth again. In between kisses she manages to ask him to sit on the bed; she has to ask him twice and when he pulls away to do what she’s asked, she’s completely flushed. She can feel it on her cheeks, her chest, her clothes feel suddenly all too much, so she pulls the long sleeve shirt over her head and drops it on the floor before swiftly moving over to him. 

 

He immediately grabs for her, pressing his lips to her skin an peppering kisses along her stomach. Running her fingers through his still damp hair, she is aware that she hasn’t felt this loved in a long time and the emotion wells up in her throat. He appears to sense this because he looks up at her. 

 

“You okay?” He asks. There’s genuine concern in his eyes that only disperses when she smiles and nods. 

 

“I was just thinking. Why did it take us so long to get here?” 

 

“Doubt and extreme idiocy on my part. Maybe fear on both sides?” 

 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Maybe a little idiocy on my part, too.”

 

“You? Never.” 

 

She leans forward and captures his lips in a tender kiss that soon enough grows more intense and in a blur she finds herself underneath him, sighing and panting as he peels off her clothing along with what little he’s wearing. 

 

When next she kisses him, they’re skin to skin. She isn’t sure she could describe the extreme sensation of this particular first. They touch and prod, their kiss only breaking when his hand finds its way between her legs and she gasps at the initial contact. 

 

“Jesus,” he groans against her neck as he touches her, gently delving one finger into her folds, “you’re so wet.” 

 

She moans, because that’s all she can do. She isn’t capable of formulating a coherent sentence at the moment and she isn’t sure she’s to blame. He coaxes and teases her, slowly and then faster until her breathing quickens, and then he slows down again, drawing a whimper from the back of her throat. 

 

Her instinct is to guide his hand and make him change the pace, but every time she’s about to, he beats her to it, bending her body to his will, pushing her as close to the edge as he can get her before pulling her right back until she’s clutching his bicep and making sounds she’d be embarrassed to admit to making. 

 

He’s talking to her, asking her what feels good, encouraging her to let go, but all she can give him is noncommittal grunts and moans as her body loses itself to him and she’s coming around his fingers. She vaguely hears him curse into her shoulder, and she wants to kiss him, say something but all her focus is taken up by the tiny convulsions and shivers she breaks into as she rides the waves of her release. 

 

When she finally manages to open her eyes, he’s looking at her with more admiration and desire than she’s ever been on the receiving end of. It occurs to her she hasn’t told him she loves him, and she wants to, she does, but the vastness of the feeling in her chest won’t let her, so she does the next best thing; she tells him all she wants to say with her hands, her lips, her tongue. She wants him to know he can have her body until they’re both spent and necessity makes them talk.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Olivia Benson’s mouth is the best type of torture. 

 

She’s tender around his bruises, sweet against his tongue, playful in his ear, and vicious further south where she takes him in her mouth and applies generous attention; licking, sucking, taking him in until he can feel the back of her throat and the faint swallowing motion is too much to keep himself together. 

 

He knows he needs to stop her before it’s over; he’s not a young man anymore and his recovery time can’t be counted on with as much certainty, so he pulls her over him, enjoying the way her breasts are pressed against his chest as she very thoroughly kisses him while shifting to straddle him.

 

She’s bracing herself, hands on either side of his head, face hovering just centimeters away, her eyes searching his his as he guides himself just enough for her to take him in. She goes slowly, tiny puffs of air blowing at her hair as she goes and then pauses, causing him to grip her hips, not to rush her, but to give himself some leverage. He wants her to take her time. He wants to enjoy it for as long as possible. Therefore, he waits, in spite of wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside her. 

 

She bears down swiftly and they both groan at the sensation. 

 

He grabs her hips tighter and he hears the bedsheets crinkle as she fists her hands in them and she slowly rolls her hips.

 

As she gains momentum, he can feel that familiar heat low in his belly and he hates that it will have to end at some point, but he also revels in the heat of it all because it’s better than he could have anticipated.

 

She rocks her hips slowly, smiling breathlessly at him when she contracts around him and draws a strangled sound in return. 

 

“Fuck, Liv,” he hisses, releasing one hand from her hip to grab a handful of her hair in order to guide her mouth back to his. She exhales against his cheek and there’s the distinct sound of skin meeting skin as her pace increases.

 

He knows he’ll pay for this later, but for the time being, he can’t bring himself to worry about his injuries. Not when she feels so good he could cry. He can’t believe he almost missed out on this, and how long he waited. All that time he wasted fuming and marinating in his jealousy of the men that came and went--wasted time. He doesn’t want the thoughts that fleetingly breeze by, but they do, he can’t help but realize they too had her this way. No, not this way. It couldn't’ have been like this with them. 

 

If she knew what was going through his head, she’d likely be upset with him. It’s not like he wants those thoughts there, but they’ve haunted him since before today, except today he has the power to make them disappear. 

 

She gasps in surprise when he flips them over, but the look of amusement leaves her features the moment he thrusts firmly into her. Her eyes close and her neck arches, her legs glide high up his sides and her hands move up to grip the headboard. 

 

He shifts on the mattress, knees planted firmly as he braces himself and then moves once, slowly, but just hard enough to pull a gasp from her. 

 

She looks intently at him, her legs moving higher still until her knees touch his biceps and her hips signal her approval.

 

It’s a blur of hands and slippery flesh, moans and grunts, his teeth on her skin, her nails digging into his and desperate cries of pleasure, her pleading for more, while all he can muster is her name as she climaxes again and urges him to do the same.

 

His ears grow hot, and his hips drive harder and faster into her; he could live on the sounds she makes alone. 

 

Finally, with her encouragement and the gentle graze of her nails on his lower back, he empties himself inside her. It lasts longer than he expects, and it leaves him more useless and boneless than he expects. He allows her to hold him, cradled between her legs as she kisses his shoulder and gently scratches his scalp until he’s ready and able to move his weight off her. He rolls off, yet his unwillingness to part ways with her wills his limbs to pulls her to rest against him. 

 

Their sweaty, breathless and tired, and it’s still light out. 

 

He was definitely not expecting this when he got up in the morning. When he tells her this, she laughs and scoots closer before sighing happily. 

 

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” After a beat, she adds, “I don’t remember the last time I had sex in the middle of the day.”

 

“What’s the verdict?” 

 

“Pleasant.” 

 

He scowls at the top of her head and indignantly asks, “Excuse me, pleasant?  _ Pleasant _ ?”

 

She chuckles and chastely kisses his chest. “I can’t feel my legs yet, you know it was more than pleasant. Okay? Better?”

 

“All I ask for is honesty.” 

 

“I love you,” she tells him, her voice slightly muffled against his chest. Wrapping his arm tighter around her, he kisses her crown and replies in kind.

  
Rafael’s never been one to need affection, as he’s never been much of an affectionate man himself, but hearing her say it feels like validation, of more than just their connection, but of the possibility of finding himself. It’s as if knowing he wasn’t delusional about this thing between them solves half of the puzzle he’s trying to decipher. Maybe he’ll think of that baby the rest of his life, and maybe he’ll regret the destruction of his career forever, but if he’s deserving of Olivia Benson, everything else passes as just clutter.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to a lot of Future Islands lately and that's where the title came from. K. Bye guys.


End file.
